Tales from the Semi-Super-Bloom Tour, Part 4: Into the Realm of Demons, the Red Hills

Human mythology finds bigger meanings in everyday stories, i.e. vast battles fought in the heavens, on earth, and in the depths below pitting light against darkness, fire against ice, and good against evil. In many ways, the myths reflect the seasons, with the richness of spring and summer contrasted with the dying and death of fall and winter. That's what I was thinking about when we made a trip this week up to the Red Hills Area of Critical Environmental Concern in the Sierra Nevada foothills. The trip was another stage in our Semi-Super-Bloom Tour, our effort to visit some of the less heralded places in California where the "Super-Bloom" was not quite as spectacular (and therefore less crowded).

We had been here some weeks back, but the spring wildflowers were only just beginning to show up. And when we arrived this week, most of the flowers were already dying back and going to seed. But there was still color hanging on here and there, especially where water was still providing the gift of continued life. It reminded me of mythical legends of latter ages when the glories of the past were still remembered, but the power and majesty of said civilizations was waning, and facing climactic battles against the forces of darkness that threatened to overwhelm all.

Really...wilting flowers make me think that way...

I imagine that it is really stretching metaphors and symbolism, but these fragile flowers are truly facing a horrific test of their ability to survive. The Red Hills take their name from the serpentine soils that weather reddish brown. The soils are poor in necessary nutrients, and rich in metals and other chemicals that are toxic to most plants. Even the name of the host rock, serpentinite, recalls ghastly mythical animals like giant snakes and dragons.

And there is an additional curse: the climate. Rain falls only in the winter and spring (most years anyway), and when the rainstorms stop, they stop entirely, for six months or more. The land bakes in 90-100 degree temperatures throughout the summer and into the fall. Life struggles to exist in this harsh environment.

And yet life does persist. The flowers rush to maturity, doing everything they can to reach maturity and produce seeds before the dryness takes life away once again. And during those short weeks, the slopes are wild with beautifully colored wildflowers. The darkness and fire for a brief moment are forgotten.

The rocks themselves that make up the bedrock of the Red Hills are truly from the realms of demons and devils. The serpentine and other ultramafic (extremely rich in iron and magnesium) rocks originated deep in the underworld that exists beneath the Earth's crust, at depths of 20 miles or more (a layer called the mantle). The rocks were carried towards the surface along huge fault systems and subjected to the reactions of extremely hot chemical-rich water and intense pressure. The rocks have been sheared and twisted to the point of being unrecognizable. Although the rocks rarely contained gold, they are closely associated with the gold-bearing ores found nearby.

The Red Hills were once reviled as was befitting of an infertile barren landscape, a landscape blasted by heat and drought. Off-road vehicle trails scarred the landscape, and some locals used the area as a dumping ground or as a shooting gallery. The land was owned, but ignored, by an agency of the federal government, the Bureau of Land Management. The BLM grew out of the efforts to give lands away under the auspices of the Homestead Act in the late 1800s. The problem was that no one wanted the lands held in many areas, so the BLM eventually became the custodian of something like 250 million acres, mostly across the western United States.

As attitudes evolved regarding land-use and ecosystems, many BLM-managed lands came to be appreciated for their biological and geological values. More and more of these "abandoned" lands were transformed into more than 200 wilderness areas and nearly 30 became national monuments. The Red Hills properties were not roadless enough to be considered as wilderness, and neither the president nor Congress ever considered it for national monument status (although I don't think it would be a bad idea). Instead, when local communities began to advocate for protection of the Red Hills for their scientific and recreational values, the BLM responded by designating 7,000 or so acres as the Red Hills Area of Critical Environmental Concern. Despite the clumsy title, the designation protects the hills from off-road vehicle use, dumping, and shooting. And during the late winter and spring, tens of thousands of people will visit the site. There are minimal developments, a pit toilet, a parking area, and a series of roads and trails that provide access to much of the "park".

The explosion of vegetation in the spring attracts insects and animals. During our trip, we saw a number of birds, including California Quail and Bullock's Orioles. They added an additional splash of color to this fascinating landscape. It was an interesting day in the realm of the devils and demons of the underworld.

Harbingers of Spring at the Red Hills Area of Critical Environmental Concern

It used to be a "junk" landscape...the kind of place where locals dumped their garbage and shot up old cars. Off-road vehicles ran roughshod over the relatively barren slopes. It wasn't private property. It was owned by the federal government, specifically the Bureau of Land Management, whose original goal was to give the land away, but in the end no one wanted it. The land, with poor soils nearly useless for agriculture, languished.

But times and attitudes change. There was a reason for the poor nutrient levels in the soils, and why grass, that would have at least allowed for grazing, failed to thrive. The underlying bedrock was composed of ultramafic rocks like serpentine, dunite and peridotite. The rocks are rich in iron and magnesium, with significant amounts of toxic elements like nickel or chrome. Only the hardiest of plants can tolerate these chemical conditions, although there are a few that can thrive in this harsh environment. When the ultramafic rocks are weathered, the iron is released to react with oxygen in the atmosphere to form natural rust minerals like hematite and limonite. The brightly colored soils earned the locality its name, the Red Hills. They form the ridges west of Chinese Camp in the Sierra Nevada Mother Lode between Highways 108 and 132.

By the 1990s public efforts to protect and preserve the unique biology and geology of the region succeeded when the BLM declared 7,100 acres of the region (about 11 square miles) an Area of Critical Environmental Concern. Trash and garbage were removed, trails were laid out, and a parking area constructed. Regulations limited off-road use and target shooting. The region finally received the recognition it needed.

The "park" includes seven very rare species of plants, including two endemics, species found nowhere else in the world (the Red Hills Vervain, and the Red Hills Ragwort). The unique nature of the flora is immediately apparent when approaching the area from the west. The environment of scattered oaks and widespread grasslands gives way abruptly to Buckbrush and Gray Pines. Grass is practically non-existent, unable to thrive on the poor soils. The region has a decidedly barren look.

But then the rains arrive. In the late winter and early spring, the wildflowers burst forth in a display of bright colors. Wildflowers in other parts of the Mother Lode are often hidden by the high-growing grasses. With grass a much diminished species, the wildflowers blaze forth.

We went up into the Red Hills today to see how things have progressed now that we've had a wet year. It's a bit early, but a fair number of flowers were visible on the slopes, including Monkey Flower, Golden Poppy, Brodiaea, and Five-spot. The lichens provided even more color.

The intermittent creek running along the main road through the park sported a healthy flow of water allowing us a chance to see the other unique species in the ACEC: the Red Hills Roach (Lavinia symmetricus), which is a fish, not a bug.

The Red Hills Roach is a subspecies of the California Roach, a member of the minnow family. It's only found in a few drainages within the ACEC and nowhere else in the world. The streams run dry for much of the year, but small seeps and springs maintain permanent pools where a few fish can survive. There were serious concerns about whether the fish would be able to survive the horrific drought of the last decade, but they managed as they have through time.

I got a poor picture of one of the roaches, but a teaching colleague of mine, Ryan Hollister, has posted some underwater shots of the fish on the move.


The Red Hills are wet from months of above-average rainfall, and the plants are growing fast, and will be blooming in profusion in the next few weeks. If you can spare a moment, head into the hills and give the ACEC a chance to impress. It is a truly unique environment found nowhere else in the world.

There's a Reason California is a Nice Place to Live, Drought and All

This post is directed (gently) at those who like to disparage those of us who choose to live in California, that dystopian socialistic state on the West Coast of North American continent. There are problems here like anywhere else, but there are moments of pure magic too. Those moments last days sometimes, even weeks or months. Take winter for instance. According to the calendar, it's still winter, and in many parts of the country people are still digging out of the snow. We have snow in California, at least when the drought is not so intense. We can visit our snow any time we want! And then we can go back down into our green valleys and soak up some sunshine.

We actually have two kinds of "snow". The other is falling off the almond trees about now, as the they bloom and set fruit. Yes, that's happening now. I left a week ago to go take a field class to Death Valley, and when I got back it seemed like the entire Great Valley was awash in white blossoms. It was a startling change.

Death Valley was having one of the greatest flower shows in decades, but coming home I realized that we are going to have a nice flower show in our valley and foothills this year as well. One of the best of our local wildflower spots is the Red Hills Area of Critical Environmental Concern (how is THAT for a name?). The little mini-wilderness in the Sierra Nevada Mother Lode protects a unique area of serpentine soils that have little in the way of invasive grasses, and lots of endemic flower species. It's on the verge of exploding into a living kaleidoscope of color. I'd be lying to say there were lots of flowers today, but there were a few dozen early blooms of Monkey-flower, but in a few weeks there will be thousands upon thousands. They'll be followed by orange Golden Poppies and blue Lupines shortly after. I'll keep you posted!

Spring in the Sierra Nevada Foothills, A First Report (and a baby horsie)

It was the first day of April, and we decided to take a drive in the Mother Lode, the gold mining region that makes up the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. We weren't really expecting much in the wildflower department, as it has been a horrendously dry year, and the hills were still brown just a few weeks ago. March brought us a few serious storms so the ground is saturated and flowers are starting to grow, but few have bloomed. I included the picture of the Monkeyflower above because it was the ONLY one I could find. But at least it holds the promise of a colorful flower show in the next couple of weeks.

We headed up a road we've never followed before, Hunt Road out of Milton (and congratulations if you have ever heard of Milton). It was the kind of road so rarely traversed by sightseers that the ranchers look at you long and hard to see if you are capable of rustling their cattle. The road itself has been patched to the extent that the asphalt filling the potholes exceeds the amount of original pavement. But it was a beautiful drive. We climbed the escarpment underlain by the Gopher Ridge Volcanics, composed of the remains of island arc terranes that slammed into the western edge of the North American continent during the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods. Oak trees and the exposures of the metavolcanic greenstone were all around us. We could see the prairies of the Central Valley below and the Coast Ranges on the far side of the valley.

In the rugged terrain near the crest of the ridge we passed a stamp mill left over from the gold mining days. I don't know the name of the mine.

 After crossing the ridge, we entered into the vast meadow of the Salt Springs Valley. It looks like a flood plain filled with alluvium, but it is actually underlain by the Salt Springs Slate, which weathers quickly into a clay-rich soil.

Bedrock exposures stick up here and there, forming the famous "tombstone" rocks. The original mud and silt of the ocean floor has been compressed and hardened into the slate, but at heart these rocks are still clay, and break down quickly. The quartz bearing silt layers are more resistant to erosion.

Roadcuts into the slate reveal the inherent weakness of the rocks. Large slabs have broken off and slipped onto the roadbed. If you look carefully on the lower left, you can see some of the few poppies that we saw today.

We suspected we might find some flowers in at least one spot, so we drove south for 40 miles to the Red Hills "Area of Critical Environmental Concern" (and isn't that a mouthful?). The landscape there is underlain by serpentine and other ultramafic rocks, and grasses are so rare that other plants and flowers provide the dominant ground cover. Even the Red Hills were just beginning to show some color, with just Goldfields carpeting the rocks, and the one Monkeyflower shown at the top of the post.

In a few weeks, this spot will be alive with poppies, lupine, and a myriad of rare serpentine-tolerant flowers. We will be sure to visit in a bit and provide an update.

 Oh, as promised, a baby horse...